


Two's Company

by TheRealAhsoka_Tano



Category: Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, Harrison Osterfield - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Tom Holand, tom holland - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Avengers - Freeform, Character Death, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dunkirk, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Good Writing, Literature, Mutual Pining, Nadia Jackson - Freeform, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Tom Hardy - Freeform, War, hurt comfort, ordinarydreamer, tom hiddleston - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27686281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealAhsoka_Tano/pseuds/TheRealAhsoka_Tano
Summary: Learning how to maneuver through life is daunting for our main protagonists. Surviving through only friendship and passion, Nadia lives her life one day at a time, until she meets an unlikely companion. And despite their backgrounds, the worlds they live in, and conquer, these two must find their voices and explore the unknowns of a familiar world. Only now, from a different point of view, and in the company of not just one, but two.
Relationships: Harrison Osterfield/Original Female Character(s), Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Tom Holland/Harrison Osterfield, Tom Holland/Original Character(s), Tom Holland/Original Female Character(s)





	1. Bloody January

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, Nadia and fellow adventure-seekers! I thought I would take the time to make a "little" fanfiction for the sake of plot convenience and help me out of this weird, writer's block that's actually a thinly veiled excuse for procrastination. So, whether or not this story comes together with the way I think it should, I hope it's entertaining because I do this for the fans and my personal enjoyment! Not a Tom Holland fan, I steer clear of potential celebrity crushes that could be added in my Britannica, but I had to pull out some resources on this one. 
> 
> RATING  
> In reference to the rating, there may be goofs and some cringe that pander to both young and older audiences, but there will be swearing, violence, lewdness, addiction, mental health, and sparing bits of nudity, that may be more fitting for 18+ audiences, hear me when I say these topics are NOT romanticized. So, get your holy water ready and count your blessings.
> 
> My only request is that the accents MUST be done if the work is to be presented on the interwebs. 
> 
> THE HOLLAND DISCLAIMER CLAUSE  
> And, finally, to Tom Holland, in case you read this for some quippy show on Youtube or make trouble by sleuthing the internet after dark, I'm not sorry. You knew what this was.
> 
> Besides that, remember this is a really, well-crafted joke! Hope you enjoy it! Read, RELISH, and Review!

Nearly ten, Nadia held the infant who drooled soundlessly on her shoulder, unaffected by the proceedings of the funeral and the brutality of the weather. Of all the things she could possess, it was only envy Nadia had wished for, looking across that white landscape. Watching her brother, who sat atop the roots of that Sycamore tree, tugging at the tufts of grass, opening his mittened-hand as they whisk away into the wind in his despondence.

Perhaps there was respect in their avoidant gazes or maybe it was fear that shone in those sullen eyes at the sight of the dead, ushered in from the hearse; looking into those misted eyes would have revealed the truth, cold, and unfeeling as that January snow. It was just them now.

She looked onto that coffin, never polished nor sanded (chipped in fact), thinking it was pointless for the men to be wearing the white gloves. Imagining her father's opinion, her eyes shifted frantically in her struggle. Only visualizing the blood that stained the sheet over a crumpled and limp body, the overlapping screams that burnt her eyes. _That_ wasn't her father.

Shaking the image out of her head, and focused on her facial expressions. It was only her and the priest that bared witness to the proceedings but still felt it necessary. Dennis Jackson was never keen on people, much fewer outsiders of the immediate family like her Uncles and Aunts, but they showed support through the children. Nadia has seen them every Sunday service, well-known people like Randall and Georgia Lynch, the bakers who often brought a plethora of goods to their door. Maria Gladwell, the Irish woman with the beautiful singing voice who brought marigolds, because roses are too solemn. Elliot Mason, the newspaper boy, brought clippings of their father's favorite comics; kind people.

In reality, no one would shed tears for him or leave flowers on his grave. They will not brush away the muck on his epitaphs nor visit him. With her mother who had died that late summer, shortly after her baby sister's arrival, who was well-liked among the community, no one was worthy of such trust.

Nadia didn't learn it then, she couldn't make that mistake twice. This was no burden, but something that just happens. Yes, it was unfair and cruel, but that was the world. She couldn't cry about it if she continued to live, she was lucky to be miserable. So, she didn't.

Paralyzed, numbness of the dead resided in her fingers and toes, biting at her through her coat with her feet an inch or two beneath the snow. Her gaze toughened around the coffin and denied herself the lingering urge to look away in the brevity. Until her heart plummeted and she shook in the bitter chill.

Stifled sobs echoed in corners of her mind, and a scarce utter of, _"I'm sorry."_

He repeated this final prayer, the Lord's prayer.

Fist clenched, she shut the voice out, the last remembrance of him. The confusion came with the tremor in her lips as those warm words embodied the gentleness in his voice that sunk in the depths of that icy field. Thinking of her brother, the drained expression on his face at the sight of their father--the screams. How lost and vacant his eyes were, diminished of trust, famished of hope. She could never forgive him, but love lingered in the good and bad. She slunk meekly in her thoughts maintaining her expressionless face, while Lydia, amid her nap, turned the other cheek, clinging closer to her older sister's warmth.

The babe felt heavy in her thin arms, added onto the discontented winter, Nadia suffocated in service. Enduring words and anecdotes that never mattered, and were muddled, much like the sun in the wintry gray that surrounded them. She deleted this portion in her memory, only remembering the thoughts of wanting to leave; no one was forcing her to be here, but every time she built the courage to try, there was an undeniable force that bound her. Nadia thought it was God, but maybe it was her mother. She didn't care if he was buried or left to rot, but it was what their mother would have wanted, and so, she stayed. It was simply something she had to do.

Her thoughts drew darker and negative the more trouble she gave them and picked up her attention to the words of the priest, who bowed his head and closed his eyes in his last homily. Quickly, she trailed the religious custom.

"--we thank you for both live given and received in your service. Dennis Jackson suffered many tragedies. First the loss of his wife, Adeola Jackson, and now his children as he returns to you. Though as unfortunate as a hunting accident and a man of his age, I pray that he shall live eternally at your side. Amen."

"Amen," Nadia swallowed the words, a lump in her throat limiting her dried airways; bitter comfort on her young conscience from the Holy man. His hallowed words didn't stop the acrobatics in her mind while the man looked to her and continued to speak wisely.

"It's expected that a child should outlive their parents, but to happen so soon is a tragedy I do not desire for any child and weighs heavily on my heart." He patted Nadia on the shoulder and grimaced. "I will miss seeing your father, as your mother at service."

"Thank you, Father." She nodded her head, pressing her tongue on the roof of her mouth to keep her tears at bay. Handing over Lydia to the Priest, Nadia picked up the wooden cross ready to dive it into the head of the grave. The pallbearers weaved ropes around the coffin to aid its descent into the grave they dug. The world of her eyes crashed into the darkened pit, looking one last time at the casket. She needed to see it, scanning the box, as they sunk deeper into the hole and the etched initials appeared in her view.

**DENNIS K. JACKSON**

He denied them of their mother's funeral, but she recalled the smell of her body. The air of death that lingered, pale, and no longer that perfume she would generously wear. Weeks had gone by and their father wept, sitting, sleeping, and eating beside her while he'd starve, unshaven, and both their odors would become unbearable to the children. They watched from the windows of their homestead as their father wrapped their mother in their sheets and buried her somewhere out into clearing beyond the patch of trees that surrounded them. There both Josiah and Nadia sat at the window, surveying the woods, wondering if their father would return as hours went by with the quieted grunts and metal clanging reverberating through the woods. How after those many hours he emerged from those woods while skies’ held solemn red and yellow and blackened his figure. The patches of dirt on his white skin made him a shadow among the blossom trees that typically grew in the spring--her favorites to pick and give to him, were now withered and less fruitful.

Now it was where they both rested, reunited once more. But, no scent remained of him on that cold day, most likely stifled from the air. Nadia was thankful for that, she couldn't stand his presence no matter how faint, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from feeling. Then came the final clang of the dead's descent.

She grew alert and recoiled at the brutal sound that stung her ears. She looked at the gravediggers, how they buried their shovels into the pile, and tossed it into the hole precariously.

 _You can't. Not even now._ Nadia promised as she quickly eyed the priest and pallbearers, shutting her eyes and imagining she was elsewhere.

**CLANG!**

There it was again, but she was in the house. Warmth encircled her, but she smelled the iron; blood pooled the floor, dried and seeping through the floorboards. Nadia bolted with a bucket in hand and a cotton rag, sloshing from her movements while she fell to her hands and knees, dunking the rag into the soapy liquid.

I can't let them see it. They _can't_ know!

**CLANG!**

The rags faded yellow appearance stained scarlet red. She flipped it to its much cleaner side and dunked the rag once more, but with the bright red pool formed a dry crust on the floorboard, she resolved to the use of her nails. Nadia's stomach cringed and bubbled, the feeling of the plasma grouping under her fingernails and the grating noise of the wood against her force. The shovels. Nadia could hear the shovels, the cracking of the snow getting louder and closer In her panic. _Scrub harder._

With a ferocity, the young girl did so. Her fingers throbbed, ached, and she could feel sweat begin to burn her eyes in her misty gaze--

**CLANG!**

Drawing closer, she yelled for them to stop, but they kept coming. Louder, breathing down her neck and she searched the area until her eyes landed on the estranged pistol. She quickly considered it and clutched it, turned around---

**POP!**

It was easy, there was the hammer and her finger graced the trigger, it all made sense and her mind became tranquil. The clanging stopped! Nadia breathed shakily in her happiness, nearly dancing in the silence. Relief exhaled into her skin, she even cracked a little smile. Momentarily looking at the blood on the floor. It disappeared, the chestnut wood spotless! But, then that grin turned horror-struck, dropping the gun. Her youngest brother, Josiah doddered out, hand over his heart, and his brown eyes sunken beneath his lids, soaked and oozing out blood. Nadia caught him before he fell, spit bubbled in his mouth as he struggled to speak. She apologized profusely until he finally died. She sobbed hysterically in that darkened parlor, her face completely dampened.

The shovels came back again and the gore now covered them. It all came flooding in, it crept out of the floorboards and surrounded her, drowning her, tasting the metal bubbling in her throat. Heart pounding terror-struck as Nadia let out a gurgled scream, and the shovels pierced her eardrums.

"NO!" The gravediggers paused in their shock, the bark of the girl. The Priest lifted his head to eye the child as it was the only words she had spoken that day.

"This isn't right." She whispered, shaking, not from the freezing temperature, but her temperance. Her fist balled and gritting her teeth to prevent what further explosion of what she held back. Visible clouds spilled out of her mouth while they watched Nadia fail to compose herself.

Nadia repeated once more, "This isn't right."

The priest recognized her emotional state, reaching out to her, but she brushed him off.

"Leave." She growled. The people stood bewildered, unsure of how to proceed with the outburst. Nadia didn't ask again, stomping over to the gravediggers and grabbed the shovel from their mittened hands, and pointed out.

"Please."

The gathering scurried off, many footprints denting the snow around them and the priest lingering a little longer. Observing her cautiously as she shoveled the first lump in that pile of ice and dirt. The sounds that frightened her, echoed over hills, through the tall, blossom trees, she kept going. He left.

She salted the coffin in the earthy snow, gaining speed as she adjusted to the weight and pressure on her arms in her determination. A few minutes passed into this hasty action, and she hardly noticed her surroundings, only concentrated on what had to be done. Alone.

The ache in her arms blistered numbness of her fingers only motivated her to keep going, but the eagerness came crashing down, her body collapsed after filling only a quarter of the grave. She'd forgotten the taste of the cold; hours had gone by without interruption, without a break, finding comfort on the ground was discomforting.

Tears swelled in her eyes, flooding her vision. She was unsure of how to stop them and buckled to her feet as her body contracted. Not for a single moment could she allow this, Nadia stripped her glove off her hand with her teeth and bit furiously into the side of her thumb. It pulsed like a bee sting under this action, but the blood proceed to circulate in the frost and she leaned on the support of the shovel to stand on her feet once more.

It needed to be done.

A wandering peer landed onto her as she weakly stabbed into the snow once more. Nadia held her head up, viewing a small boy, standing a few paces away from her and on the opposite side of the grave. Her heart pounded relentlessly, quickly wiping her eyes. "Where's Lydia?"

"Sleeping inside," Josiah answered, staring at her curiously. "Father John dropped her off before leaving."

He mindlessly walked over to the pile of snow, cupped it into his mittened hands, and tossed it into the hole.

"Don't." Nadia dismissed, continuing to shovel without breaking her pace. "You'll slow me down."

"I wanna help." He pushed further.

" _You_ shouldn't be out here. Go back inside and get ready for school tomorrow."

"What?"

"We all have jobs to do." Nadia stuck the shovel deep into the pile and pushed her foot down on it. "Yours is to go to school."

"But--"

"I'm not going to argue with you, Josiah." She huffed, "Just do what I tell you to do. I don't need you making this more difficult."

Josiah moved, but stopped in his tracks as she shoveled. Noticing this motion, she stabbed the shovel into the dirt and looked over at him to find him staring back at her in a brave stance.

"He was my father too." Josiah cut her gaze, and took the dirt into his small hands, and poured it into his grave while his sister stood there, stunned by his words. Nadia paced towards him, adjusting his sloppy-put scarf, and he looked up at her.

"The minute you can't keep up, you leave." Josiah nodded in a blink.

The clang of the shovel and the patter of the soil-filled the sniffling, cold silence between them as the initials became lost underneath the snow, but not to forget. Nadia snuck a glance at her brother, his face glistening with tears, but braced through without breaking their stride. She looked back at the grave, reading his epitaph.

**In Loving Memory of Dennis Jackson**

_"He passed from this life, for the tomb now suffices when the world was not enough."_

_Passed January 1st._

The young boy placed his hand in hers, bloodied. Nadia lurched in response but held it firmly in her pain. Faces dampened in the dusk of that bleak mid-winter with the falling snowflakes grim and the ground reddened underneath them, disappearing into the snow pile; a happy birthday.


	2. Misery Loves Company

Darkened corners of the Midwest awoke in the emergence of a bathing star, occupying the space among its smaller and jubilant brothers. Farther along the horizon, the barren trees and deep, indigo lakes stretched for miles, remaining shrouded in a haze of blackness. Among the delight of summer, it traveled across rooftops, knocked on doors, and peeked through windows while the sky blushed its vaporous pastels. Paired with the sluggish movement of these clouds, the pleasures of the day uplifted the air of salt lakes.

Nadia observed the intrinsic blend of the color in the atmosphere. Separated, they never looked better than when they were together.

With her family piled into the same wagon, she distracted herself with the view of the town. It upheld its infamous descriptions; the withered appearance that enriched it from its everlasting winters and the homeliness made the sky ever more appealing; this was the heart of Ann Arbor.

Her eyes gleamed at the sight of this, and she cherished the tranquility of the morning. She loved how the birds flocked home from the east, some alone, others in clusters. The way the wind dance with her tight curls, and the warmth it brought as it hugged her clothes. The humidity fizzled the unkempt edges of her braided updo, despite her Aunt's effort to restrain her chronic 'mop-head', she was able to enjoy the moment. That was enough for her imagination.

She looked at the landscape and thought of writing in the wheat fields in that still, solitude only married to her thoughts. Maybe she'd paint the way the morning would break through the horizon, dawn battling away at the conscious night. Thinking of herself, venturing through cornfields or running through the Maple woods, and becoming prosperous in their adventures.

Guilt crept into her sullied thoughts and she banished them away--not to be lost forever. Time slowed in this light, but the Jacksons were being whisked away for New York to catch the eight o'clock train, and all Nadia wanted to do was rest a while in the stillness of the morning. And, so, she drifted back into that light fantasy.

"Nadia!" Her eyelids shot back open, allowing the sounds of neighing horses to flood her ears and overwhelm her senses, "Come on, we're going to be late!"

Upon lifting herself from her curled position on the edge of the wagon, she groaned, forgetting her discomfort; and what smelled like a mixture of sweat and tobacco, ingrained in every crevice of the ride. She rubbed her eyes and heaved herself out with no assistance in her drowsiness. Without realizing it, haste clutched her by the arm, the skirt of her dress whirled as her body faced the end of the wagon, her head was still spinning.

"Woah!" Nadia scanned to place the nervous chuckle, meeting the gaze of an older man. "At least try to make it a few feet before getting squashed."

Looking onto the patterned clearing where other wagons parked, she nearly stumbled into traffic.

"Sorry, Uncle Hyde." The man exhaled in dismay and opened his coat, exposing a blue case from the breast pocket. Nadia took the case, pulled out the contents, and put on her glasses. The surroundings became clearer; saturation leaked into the world before her with sharpened and refined details.

"Much better, thank you." He hid his age as well as he could at forty, having a short, rounded face and hooded eyes that hid the blues beneath them. Without his grizzled-beard and aloof habits, he could be Min's age, which depended on what mood she was in; the kids grew bored of guessing. Min often made fun of his grays, saying it was the only outward wisdom God bestowed to him. I guess he forgot to shave it.

"Ah, good!" He patted her shoulders and squeezed, "Now, can you help bring peace between your lovely siblings over there without crashing into anything?"

"No promises." Nadia exhaled bashfully and faced the curb as Hyde continued unloading luggage with one sharp eye on surrounding traffic.

The Jacksons were a family of three, living as well as they could in the suburbs of the Midwest. Their Aunt and Uncle from opposite sides of the family, caring for children of sandy complexions that were both smooth and tawny. It was no easy feat raising them, but they managed in their own ways with the help of the eldest daughter.

They possessed many good qualities from their parents; across their oval faces, they had large, brown eyes that were much more thoughtful and expressive of their emotions, much like their father. While their lips spoke fiercely, joyously, or humorously on occasion; some would say that was their mother.

Nadia was the eldest of the three, she held more curvaceous features, even in her eyes and lips, being the wittiest and most creative of the Jacksons, which meant she was the best storyteller. The rounded nature of her shoulders was that of someone who carried herself awkwardly as a woman, knowing her days of making up adventures and brewing characters in her wildest imaginations would fade with marriage and age. She could never forget her and Lydia coming home, covered in paint with their hair eschewed and dirtied, and a garden rabbit resting in her hand. _The Adventures of Bean_ , she recalled fondly.

The rest of her family split off in different directions, her Aunt, rifling through her leather pouch for a cigarette, and her younger siblings, bickering amongst themselves; it was like they never left home.

"I still don't understand why he's not going." Lydia stared at Josiah with displeasure while their Aunt was too preoccupied to settle the dispute; Nadia decided to chime in.

"Why are you complaining?" She furrowed her eyebrows, forgetting she was eleven. "One less sibling to fight over sleeping arrangements."

"Praise God for that." breathed Josiah as he hugged Nadia, her arms wrapped around his torso, as he was the tallest sibling. They gave each other a little squeeze before their dispersal; it would be a while before they were to see each other again.

Aside from his height, Josiah was witty and naturally wise, seeming older in this regard, but he was only fifteen, his voice still cracked under his mumbling, and had the lankiness of a growing boy. His eyes were smaller than his sisters as each of them saw the world differently, but his smile was wide, much like the Cheshire cat. And in other ways, he was enigmatic with a stoic, indifference to most things; others found him difficult to read.

"I thought this was a family event."

"Just say you're gonna miss me, Stinker." Min cleared her throat, only stopping for a moment, but never moving her eyes. "Going to." He corrected.

Lydia laughed bitterly with a squint, "I'm more likely to miss the horses, Jo-Jo."

She was the youngest of the Jacksons, a pre-teen girl with eyes that still glinted with an eagerness to learn, but grew a taste for adventure and rebellion, which would continue with age as it did with her older siblings. Poised and mannerly, the most disciplined among her sibling as Min thought. Though she was soft-spoken, mainly circling familiar and trusted faces, there was biting intelligence in her sweet lips.

"She's not wrong." Nadia walked over to the pair, sweat shining off their backs in the sun's glint. "I'm going to miss Pompidou and Barrington."

"Of course," He said as he petted Pompidou, tenderly. "They're the only men you've managed to saddle."

"The better company to keep." She chuckled, wryly.

"Josiah," Hyde strained, pulling one piece of luggage in the red, leather pairing. Josiah broke away and hopped into assistance, his thin fingers grasped one end and their Uncle the other. They set the luggage on the brick-patterned walkway and repeated the process once more through grunts and huffs.

Josiah held his aching back, "Auntie, what did you pack? A body?"

Aunt Min sighed, "Yours if you keep all that humming and thumping in the middle of the night." Nadia's eyebrows perked as she observed Josiah's expression.

"It's music." Josiah defended; her posture relaxed.

"It's _noise_." Min's eyes moved to him. Her face was long with a West-African sternness, her eyes fixed at a narrow, but quick-sighted to the impish qualities of the children she cared for, and a mouth that never hesitated to speak on them.

She held both her nephew's cheeks in her palm with endearment. "Honey, you've got that beautiful voice that's got birds singing---God bless your father for that, but you might as well be singing in the grave." Min amended.

"I'll keep the thumping to a minimum." declared Josiah, and Min happily proceeded with her search.

"Good boy," said Hyde.

"Try living in the room next to him. He writes so many depressing p-." Josiah's eyes glinted with slight embarrassment; Lydia averted his accusatory gaze.

"I knew you went through my room! How many times-"

"You do it to me too!"

"Yeah, to teach you a lesson about being nosy." They continued to squabble, Nadia stuck her fingers in her mouth, sticking it in both of their ears.

"What the—"

"Eww!"

"Enough," Nadia commanded, feeling the contention reach the bridge between her eyes. She pinched, "As of now, you two are to never enter each other's rooms without knowledge, got it?"

"Yeah, whatever." They both proceeded to wipe the saliva onto their shoulders.

"Good. Now, shut up and hug."

"What--"

"Gross."

"Hey, you guys are gonna see each other for a couple of days, I need to ensure peace remains when we rejoin." Lydia cringed, as the two younger siblings looked at one another. They moved at an awkward pace as they set aside tired arguments for a moment. Josiah hugged her, and they softened in their familial warmth.

"Thankfully, we'll have a few days without this headache."

"Well, someone has to stay behind and feed Skitters then." He feigned, "Otherwise, I'd feel horrible if the poor bastard died."

"And, clean his chamber pot," emphasized Lydia, Josiah only snorted.

"I'm not cleaning that sh--." Motherly intuition struck the back of his head. "Ow!"

"Mind your manners, boy," Min spoke sharply, but never raised her voice. Josiah soothed the pain while the two girls snickered amongst themselves. The woman's gaze lined at the pair of them; far from done, dishing out discipline.

"And, you two," She motioned to the unloaded luggage while the other hand fiddled with her purse. "Gather your things, then get out of the street."

"Aunt Minnie," Lydia whined with youth. "Why are we rushing?"

"We don't have to be on the platform for another hour." Nadia joined in, but there was no room for objection.

Min had always been strict about time, and in her mind, "On time is considered—"

"Late." The girls groaned in unison.

"Well, if nothing else, at least I've taught you that." They eyed one another with their thoughts.

Min sucked the air through her gapped teeth, silencing them in an instant, "Now, I won't hear any more of this chatter!" She warned and passed a sack to Hyde with a metallic swish; examining the weight in his hand, Hyde's eyes shifted to the girls before tossing it. Lydia reached out to catch it as it landed firmly in Nadia's hands.

"What?" Lydia crossed her arms. "No fair, she's taller."

"Aw don't feel bad." She looked at Lydia. "You'll understand that privilege when you eat your vegetables, kiddo." When Nadia wasn't hunched over, she stood at five-foot-four, not much taller than her sister, who was a little under five feet and would soon learn that their little race would end in a tie.

"Not likely, but good try though."

"She's the oldest." Min clarified as she was also short in stature.

Peeking inside, Nadia found a roll of coins and a couple of dollars wrapped in a band. Lydia snuck a glance, growing giddy, the things they could afford in Ann Arbor, but Min saw this.

"Don't go crazy." She held the gaze of her children, taking the money and sliding it into Nadia's leather pouch that hung over her shoulder with ease.

Her dark brown eyes passed over each of them, hardly breaking contact. "Buy the tickets, check-in the luggage, and make sure we have seats aboard the train. I need to go over the arrangements with your Uncle."

"Yes, ma'am." The sisters nodded.

"Wait, where's my payment?" Josiah half-joked. "I practically carried all this luggage myself."

Hyde laid his hands on his shoulders, "Let's see, a roof over your head, a fine meal in your belly, an education—" His chin rested to his chest with a defeated sigh while his Uncle petted him on the back.

Min looked over at Hyde's wristwatch and raised her eyebrows. The two girls recognize the cue and squirreled away with their luggage, ascending the stairs, with Josiah lagging. She called something in the distance, but it was far beyond earshot with the enthusiasm that carried them.

Shrubbery enclosed the train station, the leaves bred with a tinge of yellow as it was a permanent stain of the abrasive weather in Michigan. The train station itself was two-stories of pure, immovable stone and deep-set windows embedded with stained glass with two small connecting buildings on either side. As they reached the top and entered the station, the humidity that hugged their clothes eased its grip. Eyes wandered around its medieval surroundings, light peeking through the slender windows of the place and onto the tile that clacked beneath their laced boots. There were a lot more people she had ever seen gathered.

"Welcome to Citrus Railway." Nadia faced a gangly man about the same age as her, who looked at the familiar three excitedly. His charismatic spirit was a defining trait of Elliot Morgan, the neighborhood newspaper boy. "Ah, the Jacksons!"

The three of them returned the greeting as they approached the booking office, "Good morning, Elliot!"

"A very early one at that." He yawned, "Hopefully, you guys are well-rested."

"Well-enough." replied Josiah, "Of course, you could never sleep too much."

"I guess the dead are lucky then," He chuckled, cleaning his glasses. "But, that's good! How's Min and the rest of yous'?"

"Everyone's okay; Min's Min, of course." Elliot nodded along with each statement.

Lydia spoke up, "Uncle Hyde and Josiah are going to stay in Michigan for a couple of days while we get ahead."

Nadia nudged Lydia, "Sir," she added, embarrassed.

"Oh, you don't have to be so formal with me!" Elliot waved and leaned in, "You can just call me Eli, though." He reassured and held his shaky hands. Lydia smiled shyly, hiding her face behind Nadia.

"We still on for Saturday night, Mason?" Josiah raised a friendly fist.

"Of course, I don't have any other plans." He replied and they joined fists briefly. "Now, which way are you ladies heading?"

Scanning the surrounding area, Nadia focused on a small chalkboard marked with travel listings.

**CITRIS RAILWAY SCHEDULE**

_Detroit | ARRIVAL 12:30 P.M - DEPARTURE 1:00 P.M_

_Chicago | ARRIVAL 10:30 A.M - DEPARTURE 11:00 A.M_

_New York | ARRIVAL 8:00 A.M - DEPARTURE 8:30 A.M_

"Three tickets for New York, please." She managed.

"Right, my mom was talking to me yesterday about it. Wish I could go." Elliot fiddled with a printing mechanism behind the teller station, "Eight o'clock?"

Nadia gestured a yes, "That'll be twelve cents past thirty-two, miss."

She handed her the money, Mrs. Hill printed out the tickets, picked up her pen, and signed it. She slid the tickets past the opening of the rusted bars, and Nadia collected them. But the boy slid back a fourth of what he had received.

The oldest sister eyed him with puzzlement, holding back Lydia in her eagerness, "Thank you, but we don't---"

"Buy something nice for, Miss—I mean, Mrs. Greene for me, will you?" Elliot simply tipped her hat to the girls. Nadia hesitated in her refusal, but Lydia took over and grabbed the money.

Lydia perked up, "Gladly. Thank you, Eli!"

"Safe travels." With that, they took back the money, picked up their luggage, and wandered around the station. Nadia placed the tickets and extra money in her pouch.

"Do you think we can ask Min to go to the markets?"

"Probably not, but it's possible," Nadia said, truthfully. "Why?"

"It's a surprise." She beamed. Thinking briefly on this secretive proposal, Nadia faced her brother, attempting to hold Min's luggage.

"Mind helping a brother out?" Side-by-side they struggled with the luggage, envious as Lydia continued to strut carefree with the lightest cargo, nothing.

They arrived onto the platform, exposed to the open air with its trees, and the tunnelway the train would enter through. The platform was sparse of a crowd compared to the inside. Leaves littered the walkway and danced away in the wind as the train arrived. A thundering entrance, bursting through the stillness of the station, metal scraping to the toot of the train whistle.

Early, Nadia thought, Min was right.

Lydia's face had scrunched up, Nadia set down the luggage and covered her ears. Two hulking men in suspenders and stained shirts assisted the Jacksons with their belongings; tagging, and loading them onto the cargo car. The oldest siblings soothed their arms, while Min walked up the platform, a cigarette betwixt her two fingers; the smoke swirled past with Hyde a few paces behind.

"Min, can Nadia and I go into the market?" She passed a look onto Lydia and exhaled through her nose.

"You're thinking about shopping with all this luggage?" Min pointed with the cigarette.

"I'll get something small." She appealed.

"Absolutely not." Min snapped, "We've already got our gift."

"We do?" Nadia asked

"It's called our presence, dear." She muttered. "Besides there are plenty more shops for you when we get to New York."

"But, I can only get it here." Lydia bowed her head, but Nadia saw the dwindling excitement she held and the crestfallen nature in her eyes.

"Well," Nadia began, treading carefully. "it'll be much cheaper to buy a gift here than in New York. Tamira wrote to me about the outrageous prices there."

Min pursed her lips in momentary thought and reluctantly nodded. "Nothing outrageous and you're entirely responsible for it." Her eyes rolled over to the pair of older siblings, "You two will go with her and stay together."

They sighed but agreed to the terms. After carrying all the luggage, Nadia and Josiah felt deserving of a long, rest, but pacified their exhaustion in the girl's happiness.

"Always."

Taking one last puff of her cigarette, Min included, "Neither a few minutes short or after the train departure, understood?" Her eyebrows prompted a response, the children answered with diligence.

"Now, I wouldn't forget to hug my girls before they're off." With a grin, their Uncle opened his arms in reception to their embrace.

"You too, Auntie. Bring it in." Josiah received Min, who accepted his affection.

"It's only for a few days," Nadia let out a comforting chuckle.

There was an asymmetry in the man's grin, "Too long." He said, lightly pinching her cheek. He tended to be overdramatic, she appreciated it.

"I'll be in the station," His eyes directed at Josiah and he inclined, "I'm sure Mr. Mason will talk my ear off."

Min and Hyde regarded one another with a small smile before separating. Her shoes shuffling to board the train and Hyde walking into the station, leaving the children with nothing but the sound of the occasional, smoke tuffs filled the air; the excitable child grabbed her sister by the arm and dragged her along in speed.

"Come on! Come on!" Lydia hopped along.

Nadia sought assistance from her brother. "You mind helping a sister out?"

"Quality bonding among sisters?" He chuckled, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I'd hate to intrude."

"Hey, if I'm getting dragged into this, you are too."

"Eh, I don't know. Three's a crowd."

"What can I say, misery loves company." With that, the three siblings sped, gallantly along the train tracks with the western wind against them. Silver shadows planted on either side of these tracks, despite their aridness, billowed cheerfully in their childish fun; to the markets they went, whizzing past the glow of the sun that breached the horizon and shinned on their backs.


	3. Sauntering Streets

Morning was still dim, but people remained in the boisterous section, and the outdoor lamps still radiant. Ann Arbor was one of the biggest shopping districts, perfect for travelers, young and old that wandered in---mostly from the east. It was easy to waste time here, considering the ongoing builds of new distractions and the growing population, it became a pastime. With alluring aromas that spilled out of bakeries and hot breweries, cakes, and tea galore. Items displayed in windows, enticing any viewer. Sights of barrels and baskets filled with freshly-plucked garden fruits from the Greenwich Homestead were placed at their stationed markets. Even now, working boys---not much older than Lydia, were lifting hefty merchandise into these storefronts, paid three dollars or less for their aid in the preparation of the day. Shop after shop the siblings marveled along the scuffed, stone pavements of the plaza, brick buildings, neatly-painted signs, and inviting glass-paned doors. How could they possibly decide?

"Lydia, slow down!" The tender girl ignored the calls of her siblings, skipping down the street, taking momentary glances at storefronts, and then proceeding to the next. The way she maneuvered in and out of clustered people, made it difficult for her siblings they were much taller and less graceful. The two slowed down, taking a more leisurely pace and keeping an occasional eye on Lydia in the distance.

"This is miserable," Josiah panted, "How does she keep going?"

Nadia paused for air between words, "Sugar, money, and determination."

"Those were the days." She looked at him with amused bewilderment.

" _'Those were the days?'_ " Josiah cocked his head to the side as he took a pack of cigarettes out his pocket, placing it for safekeeping as he searched for his lighter.

"You're old," He stated, meeting her sight. "You must know what it's like."

"Out of shape, is more like it." She scoffed, glaring at him. He proceeded to open the metal covering of the lighter and lit his cigarette. "And, I'm supposed to take advice from the smoker?"

"Hate the sin, not the sinner." Josiah eased its air, a feeling of euphoria washed over him and his demeanor relaxed with each puff.

"Well, this old maid can still knock you flat—"

"--oh, _really_ —"

"--anytime, anyplace."

Josiah chuckled to himself, smoke spilling out of his lips. "You forget yourself, brother. Who won the Battle at the Weeping Creek?"

"Of all days. I always seem to have trouble remembering that." He tapped the ashes away on his cigarette and itched his eyebrow in thought before inhaling once more. "Remind me."

"That's because you tripped, knocked yourself out into the Creek, and I had to drag you over to Aunt Min, bleeding, bawling your eyes out--"

"So, what you're saying is that you didn't win?" He furrowed his eyebrows, twisting his face. "You seemed to have lost your point."

"I'm saying," She stopped in her tracks, "you've never been good in a fight."

Josiah came to a slow stop, watching Lydia still skipping close-by before turning to face her, "That's a nice theory."

"Unless I'm wrong." Nadia crossed her arms, still studying his face.

He removed himself, taking one more leisure puff of his cigarette, and blew his irritation away into the atmosphere. "As I said, it's a fair assessment," The way he spoke opposed his stance as if he had to think about it.

"Don't play coy. I may wear glasses, but I'm not blind." Brandishing a razor blade between her fingers, pulled from the folds of her dress; the flannel patterning distracted from any attention it would have drawn.

Vigilance resurged in his eyes; he surveyed all-around passing strangers to see if they had notice. He was never sure, but Josiah threw his cig, took the flat cap off, and slid the razor back into the metal crown, hidden beneath the interior with a coolness. The two glowered at one another, the sister serving it tenfold and unwavering in his towering figure. Josiah put his cap back on carefully, rolled his shoulders, and turned back around, proceeding down the sidewalk.

She breathed, "Why--"

"Why ruin the morning? Pity my cigarette." He frowned as he stomped it into ashes and waved in the air, "We can still have a nice walk and catch up to Lydia.

"Lydia!" The young girl grumbled and stood in her place, dancing with impatience.

Nadia ignored this, caught up to his pace, and wrapped her arm in his as they walked, "I suppose that was a nice lie you told Aunt Min."

"A half-truth." She rolled her eyes and he inhaled sharply in his annoyance, breaking her grasp. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Act like you're better than me."

"I never said that."

"No, that would be the truth." He revised.

Nadia refrained from a response, noticing his evasive habit once more. "Where do you even think to do something like this?"

"I met with a funny-talking man at a bar who told me stories." Josiah reflected on the stranger he indulged, "I think he was in the war."

"Funny-talking man? From the war?"

"Not from Michigan that's for sure." Everything he said floated curiously in her mind and the boy watched his sister's face contort with concern and disbelief in those creased eyes.

"How can you be so stupid?"

"Stupid?" He stopped whipped his body to her; they both discoursed casually, like two cordial friends bantering amongst themselves, aware of the prying gazes that encircled the area; Ann Arbor was filled with commotion, but it was still a small town.

"You know what happens if they see you with something like this in your hands."

"Don't pull that shit with me, Josiah." She whispered, eyes imposing him. "We both know it'll be so much _worse_ for you."

"It's for protection." He reasoned.

"You wouldn't need protection if you didn't fight." He didn't respond.

"So, you're fighting?" Nadia leered at him, but he averted her stare and didn't look at her for a while. "You're fighting and we're not gonna talk about it? Just like that?"

"Just like that." Josiah attempted to walk away once more, but she held his coat firm. He never shied from her grasp, but he remained silent.

"I can't keep doing this, Josiah." She faltered. "I stitched you up, cleaned your blood, covered for you—"

"You didn't have to do those things; I didn't ask."

"Well, I did and it's done." She exhaled, calming herself. "Look, I never asked for anything of you. I _never_ asked, but if it's gotten to this, I _have_ to know."

"It doesn't concern you."

" _Bullshit_." She spat with defiance and grabbed his shirt collar, "If you get killed, that's on me. What's Min and Hyde going to think if something happens to you and I can't be there to stop you?"

Josiah was quiet for a while, and he motioned his head for her to walk with him. She loosened her grip and took his invitation. "I've been going to this speakeasy for a month now—"

"—a month? How? You can barely ride the horses and we don't have—" He gave a knowing look at her; Nadia pursed her lips together. "Elliot."

"It's a few miles from the town. I'd usually hitch a ride with a few friends and every Saturday night we'd sneak in through, hopping over the fence of the busy lot, near a dumpster. We'd watch and listen up on the balcony of the club—no one ever went up there, it was practically storage for the artists---but we were just listening, watching."

He described the cabaret, filled with well-dressed black men, and emboldened women alike, both grazing each other's bodies; In public, these interactions were sly and timid, both unknowing of how to approach one another until the moment had passed. "Maybe it was the music, the food, the alcohol, the people—I don't know, but they were bolder; girls approached guys, and they'd dance together, like they knew each other their whole lives—like, something connected them, possessed them. And, there were guys like us, people who would woot and holler instead of hearing the music. They were _listening_."

Sometimes there would be groups of men who would sing, the passion vibrating bones and ears with joy, a quartet. Watching their faces contort, the creases around their mouths and eyes, providing beautiful symphony to the night; the confidence of the trumpets, the affluence of the drums, the lulling noise of the saxophone and clarinet, and the singing talent with words that brought meaning to this seemingly rambunctious troupe.

"But, these girls," He beamed. "They were the dolled-up kind of gals, modest. Some would have these soulful and enchanting voices, you know? There was this one woman, we saw one night. Dark-skinned with this chesty voice that was powerful. Confident, while her eyes shimmered and her make-up surrounding it melted like she was crying, but no tears fell and her gaze was intense when she met with ever never a member of the crowd. The song was "Prove it on Me Blues," she was singing was about how she was in love with a woman and a man.

No one realized this or seemed bothered by what she was singing, whether she meant it as a simple performance or not, they sat amused and entranced by the mere siren of her voice and how she would move her body. Eventually, he grew courage, "they would let anyone in if they looked old enough and a few of us walk in like the rest of the crowd as if we were supposed to be there."

"We would sit in the back, of course, but I was much closer to the stage." Nadia had never seen the amount of joy that perspired in Josiah, not for a long time. She caught the smile that escaped his lips as he recalled the memory.

"What?"

Josiah breathed a shuttered breath and looked to his oldest sister, "Last Saturday, I had an opportunity to talk with one of the performers, a black gal and I complimented her. She sang a song called "This Is How You Win," and I talked about maybe wanting to be on the stage myself."

She was hesitant to adhere to a fan, much less a stranger, though his passion when he spoke to her was refreshing, and already loved his voice from the way he talked, she hid this fact. Her name was Billie Dunne, and that audience is no right to a singer but a privilege. She advised Josiah to quell his enthusiasm, and that expecting the crowd to love you simply because you're a good singer will surely grant disappointment. Billie even told her story starting, coming every night to be booed, jeered at, and even thrown off the stage by the white men, but she still came back.

_"You're a singer, but you're a Negro nonetheless, with the sound and words of Negro and that's good." She started as she stirred her drink, "but out there no one is going to listen, not unless you give them something they think is worth listening to—and so, I did. We played the way they wanted us to play, I sang the way they wanted me to sing. Hell, I permed the kinks and curls of my personality until I grew hairless. Now, I have the voice of a woman I don't recognize, singing songs I wrote that aren't mine, and I'm an imposter in my own skin. My voice was the only liberty I had and I still let a white man have my freedom. I'd do anything to get it back, but I'm afraid."_

_"Is that why you come here?" Josiah watched her as she closed her eyes and smiled. "You're afraid...of the rejection."_

_"Honey, I come here for the drinks mostly. But, I'd like to find what I had lost, but I think it's too late." She squeezed the remaining alcohol on her lips and turned to him. "For me."_

"She said, that I had a talent and a drive that reminded of herself when she was younger and that if I show up with one of my songs next Saturday night if it's good enough, she'll sing 'em!"

In that moment of delight between the two, a black woman burst into the tent, her eyes frightened and breath frantic as she clutched her chest to breathe. The cops were coming and they had mere seconds before they would be caught. Billie knew better, it was a raid. Josiah could hear the rabid beasts the cops commanded in the distance, his group of friends running in the tent and grabbing Josiah, while Billie ran off with the girl holding her. The entire place was overrun, black men scrambling in disjointed directions away from the cops, some screaming, and whaling as the dogs clamped on their legs.

"I got tackled by one cop, a cocky one who eyed me and my friends leaving through the side as they surrounded us. I shouldn't have fought back, but I was scared out of my mind and I'm glad I did." Josiah decided. "He held me down, climbed onto my back and he spat on my cheek. My friends managed to yank him off me, but Elliot came in with his truck and that threw most of the cops off and we got the hell out of there."

He raised his shirt, partly, showing her a bruise along the side of his abdomen. "He left me a bruise to remember not come around anymore more. And, I only started carrying the razors to protect myself, honest."

"Josiah..." She began searching for her mind aimlessly for words, simmering with stress. _The nightclub. The razors? For a month?_ How could she have not known earlier? _And, to get killed for 'the hell of it?'_ She flashed with anger.

"You're an idiot!" It spilled out of her lips precariously, and she kept going.

"What—" Josiah's breath deepening and his heart dropped into his stomach.

"You're going to get yourself killed; you're still young—"

"---we're three years apart—"

"You're _my_ brother!" The words echoed in the streetway, few eyes lined at the pair of them, but walked on with their diminishing curiosity. "You and Lydia are the only family I've got left."

"We're not your responsibility anymore!" Josiah fought, "You're so quick to assume the worst." His nostrils flared, and his fingers twitched.

"Assume? Josiah, that cop could have killed you, and what would have happened then when Aunt Min and Uncle Hyde read, 'Young Negro Body Found Miles Away From Home' on the newspaper?"

They no longer pulled any punches in the words that escaped their lips. They were both too hurt and angry to disguise it any further in slighted jabs. 

"Josiah, this is your life—"

" _My_ life, not yours. Hell, you've never made a single decision in your entire life."

"This family is a decision; that's my choice!" 

"No, it's not..." This wounded her, Josiah saw this in her face, but it didn't stop the fury that boiled and spilled on that walkway.

She pushed further, "I _can't_ lose you too. Not the way dad—"

"Don't you fuckin--" He cautioned, waving his finger. Nadia bit her lip, realizing what she did. It wasn't what she meant to say, he knew this, but Josiah had already shutdown. "Don't go there."

"Josiah," The wrinkles in the sleeve between her grasp and his arm tightened. In a hard swallowed, her eyes pierced him, and she spoke forcefully, "don't go back."

He lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning hers, and shrugged off her hold. Nadia sighed begrudgingly, packing in her emotions and refocused on their current situation. "Right."

They surveyed the walkway, Josiah much farther ahead with Nadia a few paces behind as they pushed past the clusters of people that gathered in their sight. Seconds had gone by and worry had not settled in their stomachs, but it traveled slowly up from their beating hearts and into their exasperated lungs. Upon reaching the Goldman's Eatery, the corner store where she had remained, the two siblings festered in their anxiety.

"Where did she go?"

"Lydia!"

The silence answered and their hearts dropped into their stomachs. Josiah and Nadia looked at one another while streetways grew heavier in traffic, she was beside herself, concluding three fundamental notions: Lydia was alone, nowhere to be found, and it would be her fault.


End file.
